According to the latest survey, the average married couple have 160 arguments a year. That’s great news. You see, folks, me and the missus had our 159th ding- dong last night and we’re still in February. So, only ONE barney to go for the rest of 2023!
Apparently – but not surprisingly – at least 70 per cent of arguments end with the poor bloke on the losing side. (When I passed this information on to Mrs C, she insisted it was nearer 80 per cent and we had a big fight about it…)
Hats off to my pal Davie – a very smart fella. Whenever he’s losing an argument with his better half, he starts taking off his clothes. She immediately has a headache and wants to be left alone.
Our latest, er, lovers’ tiff? On Tuesday, I forgot to empty the dishwasher. And, whether you’re reading this in Aberdeen or Aberystwyth, you probably heard the ensuing aftermath (250 decibels, I reckon) as my wife put away the crockery and cutlery like an orchestra percussionist on LSD.
And to think she complains about the sound of my snoring! On that note, I’ve got an appointment with my doctor next week (it cost me £2000 at a charity auction) and I’m hoping he’ll refer me to one of those sleep clinics.
No jokes, please, about Tannadice… We enjoyed an otherwise brilliant break in Glencoe last week but I’m afraid my chronic snoring – yet again – was an absolute nightmare.
Correction: nightmares are experienced whilst sleeping and both of my girls struggled to enjoy a single moment of uninterrupted shut-eye. By the second night, my wee lassie had dug out her noise-reduction headphones and my wife, I kid you not, was sleeping in the BATH!
I’m sure they both still love me, of course. In fact, after watching a recent TV documentary about sleep apnoea – a condition that increases the risk of heart failure by 140 per cent! – Mrs C admits that rather than being annoyed by my snoring, she’s now TERRIFIED of it.
Particularly when I’m driving… I’m only joking (it’s not that bad). And I hope my mate was also kidding last week when he claimed that, as a special Valentine’s present, he bought his wife a hot air balloon trip over the US.
When he asked what she wanted last year, she said: “Surprise me.” So he phoned her from Benidorm. Aye, the big man likes a giggle. Apparently, his financial adviser has told him to invest money in Primark and Ikea.
Why? Seems it’s the best option for socks and chairs. Money’s very tight these days, but 'twas ever thus.
Hello to my Celtic-daft pal Chris who recalls seeing a kid in The Forge shopping mall in Glasgow back in the mid-90s asking his mammy if he could get the letters ‘VAN HOOIJDONK’ on the back of his new top.
After working out how much it would cost, she said: “Can you f***! You’ll get ‘BOYD’ and like it!” Talking of the shops, it was reported this week that supermarkets are beginning to ration fruit and veg.
That noise you heard was five million Scots shrugging their shoulders…
PS. When I’m at the doc’s next week, I might ask about the new American drug-free weapon for constipation things moving. According to reports, it’s basically a vibrating suppository that stimulates the colon. (Apparently, Richard Gere has ordered 300 of them…) Or do you think I should just stick with my season ticket at Fir Park?
PPS. In other health news, experts reckon a cup of tea raises the risk of Alzheimer’s – but only if you drink 13 cups a day. The painter and decorator who did our kitchen last year must be bricking it…
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